


Crescendo

by Cameronfedora



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock BBC, Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: Composing, Confessions, Crescendo, Dinner, Dynamics, Floor Sex, Gay, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Neck Kissing, Nipple Play, Sherlock plays violin, Sherlock's Violin, john as sherlock's muse, sherlock's muse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1475203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cameronfedora/pseuds/Cameronfedora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John never expected to be somebody’s muse. He never expected to kiss a man either. But with Sherlock around, he had to expect the unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crescendo

Sherlock had measured the pace of John’s breath and the rate of his heart, but no numbers could describe the needed comfort he felt when John was around. Sherlock huffed, and ran his fingers through his dark hair. _Stupid._ He should think back to the case.

But he wouldn't, not until the piece was settled. Sherlock was composing. The melody began quietly, slowly gaining pace as the rate of the notes increased. The dynamics rose and fell dramatically as Sherlock scribbled across the page, breathing in the music. Before each new note he would replay the entire piece, noting new dynamics and adding crescendos and decrescendos. About midway the tones dropped to a lonely baseline, punctuated by short bursts of dark staccato. Sherlock had just jotted down an exciting spark when John appeared in the room. John was tense all over, and sighing sharply as he gazed about the room, fingers grasped into a balled-up fist.

Sherlock looked up, expecting John to say something interesting; though his anger displeased and distracted Sherlock from his work. Instead, John bit his tongue.

“Composing?” He asked, reaching in front of Sherlock for the paper.

“Yes.” Sherlock replied, shifting in his chair to lean over the music protectively, his arm blocking the notes from John’s view. John looked from Sherlock to the stand, resisting the urge to lick his lips at the pouty Sherlock. Whenever Sherlock got in one of his moods, John usually left him alone. Usually. John scratched the back of his neck and coughed to the side. “Well?” John asked, putting his hands on his hips as he glanced at Sherlock authoritatively. “What’s wrong?” He crinkled the newspaper in his right hand.

“Nothing.” Sherlock replied all too quickly, thrumming his hands on the stand, making a _tap tap tap_ like a metronome or a heart. He stared intently at John, trying to keep his discomfort from showing. _Stupid._

John sighed, and followed Sherlock’s eyes which settled on the ashtray. John laughed and his posture relaxed. He reached and grabbed the silver, moving it with his hands as he spoke. “I can’t…believe…you took this!” John giggled, grinning at Sherlock. A muffled giggle came from the man, which soon grew to a hearty laugh. “I know!” Sherlock replied running his fingers through his locks again. John approached the edge of the stand, and pat his hand on Sherlock’s back. “Watchya writing?” He asked joyously, rubbing his hand up and down Sherlock’s back in a normal, manly way. Something that friends do all the time. Just a little pat.

Sherlock froze. “A-a song” He stuttered out, squeezing his hands on the stand, before thrumming a faster pace again. _Taptap. Taptap. Taptap._ John released his grip, then leaned forward to examine a phrase. “What does, uh, _that_ mean?” John asked, pointing to a scribbled ‘Legato.’ Sherlock inhaled. Their shoulders were touching, and their faces so close. Oh, how he wished to just-

“Smooth notes, that flow together without breaking contact.” Sherlock replied, remembering something he had read once in a dictionary, though unsure if he had gotten the wording perfectly correct.

“Mmm.” John affirmed. A warm tint reached his cheeks, realizing how little space there was between them-their faces almost touched. John returned to a standing position, ceasing the _contact_ between their shoulders. John laced his hands together behind his back, now holding the folded paper in both his hands. Sherlock’s thrumming returned to the previous steady rhythm, in triplets rather than the recent couplets. Couplets were more difficult to thrum anyway.

John sighed and sat down in his chair, opening the newspaper and skimming through the police reports. Sherlock began to play the piece from the beginning, making the fortes even louder than before and each decrescendo poetically intense. Each staccato was a stabbing sensation and each crescendo reminded John of their many adventures, especially the first-when they had ran down the street after a cab, only to give some American a “Welcome to London!” John listened carefully, as the notes returned to a lonely baseline that made him frown in thought.

He felt a pain in the pit of his stomach. The beat wavered.

But then, quickly, the notes picked up pace again and John and Sherlock were running off. Then the song became intense, but legato, flowing like Yin and Yang, two opposite rhythms competing in a duet. Sherlock paused there, scribbling more notes down, adding to the complementary tones.

John blinked into the newspaper. “That was _amazing_.” He stated, nodding. Sherlock blinked back at him and smiled. “I thought you would like it.” He smirked, placing down his pen and putting away the violin and bow. Sherlock had ended on one end of the duet, planning to finish the complementing end of the eight bars when he had the inspiration.

Sherlock scratched his face absentmindedly, looking round the room and peering out the window. John loved watching Sherlock like this, with a glimmer in his eye, searching mathematically throughout the room. He grinned under his paper as his eyes followed the lean man. Oh, what was he thinking? He loved watching Sherlock no matter how he was.

“Anything in the paper?” Sherlock asked as he ran his fingers over the smiley on the wall. John looked down at the scrambled words. “Uh…” John skimmed the page quickly. “Domestic violence, parking violation, drugs bust…” He listed aimlessly.

“Dull.” Sherlock replied, stepping quietly over to his chair opposite John’s. He thrummed the rhythm on his knee. _Taptap. Taptap. Taptap._ Couplets again. He cocked his head at John who met his eyes. John looked up at him and furrowed his brows, then cleared his throat and examined the paper again. “Y-you know what?” John asked, raising his voice slightly as he stood, crumbling the newspaper, and raised his eyebrows at Sherlock. He stretched, cracking his neck and wrists. Sherlock watched John’s chest rise and fall warily, remaining sitting. “You.” He paused, pointing at Sherlock as if they weren’t the only two in the room. Sherlock raised his brows at him, curious. “ _You_ haven’t had dinner for the past three days.” He pouted, one hand resting on his hips, the other holding the bullied newspaper.

“Oh, _come on, John!”_ Sherlock rolled his eyes, exasperated, tousling his hair. Silly John with his “normal” eating habits. John let his gaze linger on the tousled hair longer than he should have. “Oh, come round, let’s have dinner.” John pleaded. John approached him, laying one hand on Sherlock’s defined shoulder, grasping comfortingly.

Their eyes met and the conversation cut. This was not unusual between the duo. Moments like these had plagued John’s mind. Sherlock looked up at him, wide-eyed and desperate, and John looked down at him, a subtle fear troubling his expression. John searched for words, but found only memories and suppressed urges. He could look into those gorgeous hazel orbs forever, if he wasn’t aware that Sherlock could notice him doing just that. But Sherlock’s deep stare kept him from breaking away.

John slowly pulled his hand to the right, about to remove the grasp for good when Sherlock whipped his head around to sharply gaze at the hand. Sherlock had crossed his arm in front of his chest to put his own hand over the fleeing one.

John inhaled sharply and swallowed, pausing his movement and letting his hand remain on the thin fabric of Sherlock’s button-down. Sherlock licked his lips, watching the doctor swallow thickly. “Sherlock…” John warned, eyes fixed on their hands, as Sherlock laced his long fingers through the shorter ones of the other. Sherlock looked down and began to sob.

“Sherlock! What’s wrong?” He asked, dropping the paper and moving his left hand to the opposite shoulder, then lifting up Sherlock’s chin to face him. “I lied.” Sherlock sobbed, tears streaming down his face as he gripped John’s hand tightly, turning his knuckles white.  “What do you mean?” John asked softly, kneeling as he fixed a stray hair on Sherlock’s face. Sherlock inhaled and exhaled deeply, his breath catching. John looked up at Sherlock, frowning and squeezing his hand back just as tightly.

“Oh, please promise me you’ll still love me no matter what.” Sherlock cursed himself in his head. He sounded as desperate as he felt. Sherlock looked back down, John rubbing his shoulders with his free hand. Sherlock’s eyesight was skewed from his tears, and John felt tears building on his own eyes. John shook their grasped hands. “Yes, yes. I’ll love you.” John was taken aback by Sherlock’s words. Of _course_ he would love him. No matter what.

Sherlock lunged forward, kneeling on the floor with John and hugging him tightly. He cried into John’s shoulder. John let go of his hand and wrapped his arms snug against Sherlock’s back. They were embraced like this as Sherlock gathered his breath. “I’m not married to my work.” Sherlock hissed, looking forward. He sobbed again. “What do you mean?” John asked, honestly confused about the outburst. Sherlock balled his fists. “I’m gay.” He mumbled. “I’m sorry I lied to you.” He bit his lip, sniffing in his tears, then let himself go limp in John’s arms.

John let his breath waver.

Then John kissed Sherlock lightly on the base of his neck. Sherlock sniffed again.

“Did you just…kiss me?” He asked feebly.

“Y-yeah. Sorry.” John replied awkwardly, feeling himself go bright red.

“No…it’s fine.” Sherlock replied, stronger than before. He leaned out of the hug and they were facing. Sherlock smiled weakly, and John grinned reassuringly.

“You can do it again.” Sherlock said in a low tone.

“Oh.” He replied. He sat there with a stunned grin. There was a silent pause.

“You can do it again.” Sherlock repeated. He remembered his thrumming fingers, and imagined the couplets a final time. He didn’t have to imagine any more; the quick beat of his heart had made it real.

John leaned forward and placed a tentative kiss on his lips, to which Sherlock received eagerly, jolting into the kiss, a fire ignited from the lone spark. He moaned, pushing his tongue through the supple lips. “Sh-sherlock!” John breathed heavily, heart racing, closing his eyes into the kiss. He felt like melted chocolate. John whimpered as he felt Sherlock’s wet tongue breaching his lips. Sherlock’s neck went hot, and he wrapped his arms gingerly around John. Keeping the give and take of the kiss, John shimmied towards Sherlock and straddled his thighs.

Sherlock groaned, leaning his head back to the cushion of the chair on which he rested his back. John took this chance to leave darting hot kisses along Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock bit his tongue. “Oh god, John,” He panted, shifting his head.

“I love you.” John replied, sucking on his carotid artery. Sherlock moaned throatily, and John nibbled gently on the skin, leaving Sherlock panting. Sherlock sat up began to unbutton John’s shirt.

“We’re…actually…doing this?” John asked, feeling euphoric and dazed. Sherlock peered at him puppy-like, worrying his fingers through John’s shirt. “Am I doing something wrong?” Sherlock replied innocently. “No, you’re doing everything _perfectly,”_ John growled, interrupting Sherlock’s duty to plant a kiss on his forehead. He smiled, placing his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock continued down John’s shirt, finally pulling it off his shoulders and throwing it to the side. “Mmm,” Sherlock groaned, pushing John onto the floor, then buried his face in his chest, sniffing in the scent.  

John yelped as he thumped onto the floor, but didn’t mind. He strung his hand’s through the dark, almost black locks of the man, and yanked his hair hard (almost bringing Sherlock off his chest) as he felt Sherlock’s erection against his leg. “Aah!” Sherlock groaned, feeling his face raise off of John slightly. “Sorry, love,” John whispered anxiously. “I don’t mind.” Sherlock replied.

At that, Sherlock circled John’s nipple with his tongue, smirking when John let out an involuntary whimper and thrust up against Sherlock’s own crotch. He supported himself up with his arms, then with John watching, coated his fingers with saliva by pushing his hand in and out of his mouth. “Sherlock, is this really the first time you’ve…?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes, why?” Sherlock paused, as a line of saliva dripped thickly down to John’s chest. John grinded up against Sherlock, wrapping his legs around him for more friction.  “No reason.” John smirked. Sherlock pinched John’s nipple with his coated fingers, whilst simultaneously rolling his hip with fervor, making John moan.

Sherlock stopped suddenly. “Wait, I thought you wanted to have dinner?” Sherlock asked, furrowing his brow.

“Well, y-yes,” John blinked.

“Let’s go then.” Sherlock replied, nodding. He stood up, ignoring the tightness in his trousers.

John was still lying on the ground. “What the hell just happened?” John asked, rubbing his face in confusion. He glanced over at the shirt on the floor.

“We made out for a bit, I got hungry, and that’s why we’re both…well, hard.” Sherlock stated, plain as day.

John sat up and looked down at his chest, then back up at Sherlock. “Well, are you coming?” Sherlock asked. “I wouldn’t want to leave without my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend?” John replied stupidly, reaching for his shirt.

“Only I would be so cruel as to leave you hanging John. Yes, you’re my boyfriend.” Sherlock replied. He was about to leave the flat when he was struck with a realization. He hurried to the music stand and marked down a final few notes as John buttoned up his shirt.

John went to Sherlock’s side and looked at the piece. “What about that last line?” John asked, pointing to empty space at the bottom of the page. “We’ll finish that one tonight.” Sherlock winked at John, pulling on his overcoat and disappearing down the stairs.

 _You’re a cruel, gorgeous man._ John thought.

Sherlock had reached the bottom of the stairs. “Are you coming?” Sherlock shouted.

“Be there in a minute!” John replied, turning the composition to the first page. He glanced down. It was titled “John’s melody.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published fanfiction. All feedback is encouraged(and needed, in order for me to write other stories)! And sorry for leaving you all hanging there, but I think it represents Sherlock's personality quite well.  
> Edit: 4/17 wow, thanks you guys! I didn't expect 22 Kudos and 2 bookmarks. :O When I uploaded it I was hoping for like 2 people to read it.  
> Btw, my tumblr and deviantart are also Cameronfedora if you're interested.


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